This morning I was awake early (up at half eight, I rock) sat with a cup of tea and the remainder of last nights joint (I do rock) when the doorbell went.
In my dressing gown alone (with pants underneath – I’m no bohemian) I went down to answer the door. as expected it was the postman, he had a package that was too big for the letterbox, and as usual, not for me.
I said in a chirpy London way “Morning mate”. Thinking (perhaps wrongly) that a postman would be cheered up by someone being happy. But he just eyed me with a scary suspicious glare. It struck me that maybe he reads this and thought I was making it up about being chirpy in the morning when I am unemployed.
Maybe he thought that I deserved a letter bomb for my happiness in the wrong place. Maybe he was scared that I was about to open it there and then and maim him too, just because I was happy.
But it wasn’t for me.
So I didn’t. That, as he well knows, is against the law.
Maybe he’s just a miserable postman. Or when he was nine he made a suspicious glare face and the wind changed.